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by faikitty



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender-Neutral Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Hand Jobs, I just wanted to jerk Lucifer off in his sleep so this happened, M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27843889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: Sharing Lucifer's bed has its perks.
Relationships: Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 368





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**Author's Note:**

> the official OM Twitter account posted [this](https://twitter.com/ObeyMeOfficial1/status/1332595184643821569?s=20), then Luz brought up somnophilia, then [Iko edited a blush onto Lucifer's face](https://twitter.com/faikittyy/status/1332879290371862529?s=20), then I blinked and this existed.

Lucifer’s arms are around you when you wake.

That is not unusual. At least, not anymore. He always seems to be drawn to you, like a plant to the sun (ironic, you think, for _him_ to be the morning star rather than you). He has told you before that just having you near him makes him feel calm, and you believe him, by how much more soundly he seems to sleep when he is around you. During the day, he is careful with his touch, always asking permission before doing something as small as holding your hand. But at night—in his sleep—his self-restraint is lessened. Regardless of whether you fall asleep in his arms, as long as you are sharing his bed you wake up surrounded by him—an arm around your waist, or a wing flung over you as a blanket, or both. You doubt it is a conscious act; the first few times it happened he seemed almost embarrassed to find you there. But now he is used to it, as are you. It is far more common for you wake up in his arms than not.

What is slightly less common is the cause of your awakening: Lucifer’s half-hard cock pressed against your lower back, already tenting the fabric of his pajamas.

It takes you a moment to identify that as the source of the odd pressure at the base of your spine. Your thoughts are still sleep-slow, still weighed down by the lingering remnants of your own already forgotten dreams. It is not until Lucifer shifts slightly in an unconscious urge for more friction and the soft, barely there sound that spills free from his chest is rounded just so on a moan, that you figure out what is happening. Your face heats up; the fire races through your veins with the quickening of your heartbeat, and you are fully awake in an instant.

You must have moved accidentally, because Lucifer gives an unmistakable noise of complaint and tightens his hold on you, tugging you even closer to him and burying his face in against your hair. You whisper his name but receive no response. He’s still asleep, you realize with a thrill. He’s having a dream—and a rather good one by the sound of it. That leaves you with a question.

What are _you_ going to do about it?

You could ignore him. Lucifer will eventually either wake on his own or the dream will fade into nothingness. You could wake him; you have before, and you know exactly where _that_ will lead. But… last time, when _he_ woke _you_ , teasing you that you were moaning his name in your sleep (something you _still_ doubt), you half-sarcastically told him that if it happened again, he could just have his way with you while you slept. He had paused, given it more consideration than it really deserved, and at last offered you the same. Should the situation arise, you were welcome to do whatever you want to him as well.

Since he so kindly offered, it seems rude to not take advantage of it.

You rock your hips back, testing to see if he is truly asleep. A shudder runs through him; his fingers twitch where they rest against your stomach. But he doesn’t wake. His response is purely physical as he pushes up to meet the pressure, cock sliding over the curve of your ass. He groans something close to your name as he does so, voice muffled against your hair but still darker than the room, laced with a hunger he is not even consciously aware of. He ruts up jerkily against you, once, twice, the movement far less deliberate and practiced in sleep. On the third time, the sound that spills from his lips is higher, close to a whine. It is like nothing you have heard from him before, so honest and needy you know he would have bitten it back were he awake.

You roll over cautiously. Lucifer is a notoriously light sleeper; years of being constantly on edge have caused his rest to become fitful, even with your soothing presence nearby. You don’t want to wake him. Not yet. You pause for a moment after carefully putting a small amount of space between you, watching as he frowns slightly at the loss of contact, of warmth, even though he is barely aware of their absence. His arm is still draped over your waist, and although you feel the muscles flex briefly, he doesn’t try to draw you in close again. You smile at his desire to always be as close to you as possible, resisting the temptation to sneak in a quick kiss on his forehead.

Instead, you reach down, fumbling slightly in the dimly lit room. Your fingers ghost friction over his cock, still trapped beneath fabric, and his hips come forward to meet you, cock jumping at that first touch. His pajamas are silk, the fabric slick beneath your palm as you press your hand against him, delicately light. You massage gently over him, feel the shape of him hardening with each movement, listening as the faint strain to his breathing deepens. It is loud against the quiet backdrop of the room; the only other sound is the rustle of fabric as you work him with your hand. Where there would normally be teasing, murmured words of praise or degradation or affection, mixed with gasps of your own, there is only him, only the quiet honesty of sleep-filtered reaction.

You take your time. It is not often you have the chance; his hands would normally be all over you by now, his fingers in your hair, his nails writing demands into your skin. When you finally pull his cock free from the fabric and close your fingers loosely around it, the weight of heat on Lucifer’s breath gives way to a groan that slips from his tongue as his lips part. You stroke over him slowly, deliberately, marveling at how his body responds to your touch with reflexive need. The moon filtering through his windows casts just enough light for you to see the pink flush to his cheeks and the small beads of sweat of his heated face. You want to kiss him—his cheeks, the solid line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. You angle in close, close enough to feel his hot, shaky breath fall on your lips. It would be so easy to cross the centimeters that are left between you. So simple.

But you don’t. You pull back when the temptation becomes too much to bear, when what falls on your lips is a low moan that sends a shiver of want through you and makes you press your thighs together. Later, you think to yourself. Later.

For now, you focus on Lucifer. You continue to jerk him off, pace steady and smooth, his cock heavy and hot in your hand and a trembling in his muscles. He is more sensitive than he lets on, you know; he tries to minimize his reactions, to maintain the façade even during sex, but you are sometimes able to get him to break his composure. Like this, though, he has no composure for you to break. You can see the pleasure evident on his face, in how his brows are drawn together and his mouth is open to take in unsteady breaths. You sweep your gaze over him, trace his jaw to his collarbone with your eyes instead of your teeth, longing to taste the quickening pulse that lies beneath his pale skin.

Lucifer’s throat works over a groan, tightens into another whine as you drag your fingers over him and thumb over the head of his cock. You take it as encouragement; you pick up your pace, closer to what he prefers while he is awake, and are rewarded with quiet, wordless pleas to continue, his hips bucking up reflexively. His hand tightens against your waist; his breath comes faster, harder, each tinged with the rawness of pleasure. His head tilts away from yours, angled back against the pillow, his lips parted in what would be an invitation for you to kiss him were he awake.

And so, finally, you do.

Lucifer’s eyes jerk open as you kiss him, only to flutter closed again as sensation crashes over him. His muffled gasp turns at once into a startled moan at the sudden spike of pleasure; then his lips are brushing yours as his head falls away; his arm is tightening around you to pull you flush against him; and his thighs are flexing, back arching as you stroke over his cock, until he is spilling slick heat over his stomach and shaking at the unexpected sensitivity of his skin beneath your touch.

You kiss Lucifer once more, right on the corner of his mouth, before leaning away and resting your head on your pillow, your gaze on the sculpted profile of his face. He takes a deep, steadying breath and lets out a long sigh; then he glances at you through half-lidded eyes, glazed both with sleep and the lingering warmth of his orgasm. You smile and watch as his cheeks darken once more at the affection on your face.

“Good morning,” you greet. You don’t try to keep the satisfaction out of your voice.

Lucifer gives a quiet hum of acknowledgment and leans in to kiss you. The arm that cradles you close to him is loose, his body relaxed, his voice husky when he murmurs, “That was quite the wakeup call.”

You reach up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “You don’t sleep much. I thought I’d let you get as much as possible.”

Lucifer huffs a laugh, low and fond. “Is that so?” He lifts a brow, lips quirked up in amusement. “I suspect you had other motivations. But it’s appreciated nonetheless.”

“Well,” you consider, letting your tone turn playful, suggestive, “it _did_ sound like you were having a good dream. I wanted you to enjoy it.”

Lucifer catches your meaning. He smirks, a spark of fire burning low in the red of his eyes. No longer does he seem tired, even with the suddenness of his awakening. “The real thing is better,” he murmurs lowly. “If you wish- “ he shifts abruptly; you find yourself staring up at him, his hands on either side of your head and his weight pressed over you- “I can show you what I was dreaming about.”

You nod, a thrill running through you at the desire already stirring once more in his molten gaze. “Yes,” you agree, and the fire in his eyes burns hotter. “Please.”

Lucifer smiles, and he ducks down to kiss you.

**Author's Note:**

> what was he dreaming about? I don't know! you decide. go wild, go crazy.


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